


Tripping the Light Fantastic

by newsbypostcard



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, band au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-02 20:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2824712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsbypostcard/pseuds/newsbypostcard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DA2 Band AU:

</p>
<p><em>Varric gave a wistful smile and went over to sit by Hawke’s side. “You’re a legend, Hawke!” Varric exclaimed. As though on cue, the crowd’s noise swelled louder. “You wouldn’t abandon the people like this, would you? You’ve get out there and show them what you’re made of. I mean, hell -- you’re the </em>Champion of Kirkwall.<em> What’s the band without their frontman?”</em>

</p>
<p>
  <em>Behind him, Fenris scoffed.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tripping the Light Fantastic

**Author's Note:**

> The bulk of the fic is only one chapter! Chapters 2-5 are bonus material -- the press releases repeatedly mentioned in the fic -- which I wound up writing just to keep my own story straight. They can be read at the end of Chapter 1, in the middle, or not at all. The relevant "article" is hyperlinked to throughout.
> 
> Sex referenced but not explicit, mild alcohol use and references, I make terrible and unkind fun of Anders, and there are a great deal of very bad jokes. The thought of publishing those jokes singlehandedly encouraged me to write this fic. I've no apologies to offer.

* * *

  


The crowd was, inexplicably, still chanting for an encore.

“You’ve gotta give it to them, Hawke,” Varric was saying.

Hawke made a distant wailing sound -- something high-pitched and pathetic. He continued to lounge in the broken-down office chair, feet hitched on the nearest pile of boxes, and dangled his arms by his sides, trying to look as pitiful as possible.

“Playing dead won’t work,” Aveline advised him sternly, mutely playing riffs on the D-tuned bass.

“I’m not playing dead,” Hawke clarified. “I’m playing _unconscious_.”

“Our fearless leader, everyone,” Bethany said.

“I’m stuck! I can’t move!” Hawke flailed momentarily in place before again going slack.

“Listen to that!” said Merrill, unable to contain her glee. “We can’t just leave them.”

“Nor shall we,” Aveline agreed. “We’re not about to climb to this level of fame only to renege on a simple demand for an encore.”

“I’m tiiiired,” said Hawke.

“What to play?” Isabela asked, rapping drumsticks on her knee. “Act of Mercy? The Bone Pit?”

“Tranquility?” Hawke suggested pointedly.

“The First Sacrifice?” Fenris countered, glaring.

“Get Back to Work, perhaps,” Aveline muttered.

“Everyone asks so much of me,” Hawke complained, to no one.

“What about Long Way Home?” Merrill offered, ignorant to the thinly veiled threats. “I like that one. It’s very melodic.”

“Now that’s a solid suggestion,” Varric agreed. “Bring them back around.”

His more verbose complaints having been ignored, Hawke had reverted to guttural moaning to express his displeasure.

Simultaneously, all of the band members looked to Varric. _This is what you’re here for,_ their eyes all seemed to say; though only Bethany said it aloud.

And so Varric gave a wistful smile and went over to sit by Hawke’s side. “You’re a legend, Hawke!” Varric exclaimed. As though on cue, the crowd’s noise swelled louder. “You wouldn’t abandon the people like this, would you? You’ve get out there and show them what you’re made of. I mean, hell -- you’re the _Champion of Kirkwall._ What’s the band without their frontman?”

Behind him, Fenris scoffed.

Hawke seemed to think that over for a second, then wrinkled his nose. “Has anyone got that red juice?” he asked. “You know, for some extra energy.”

“Are you talking about _wine_?” Fenris growled with incredulity.

“Of course. Did I not say the energy juice?”

“I’ve got whiskey,” Isabela offered, tossing him the flask from her bra.

“Oh, yes, that’s better,” Hawke said, catching it easily. “All right. I guess we can go out.”

“ _Finally_ ,” Bethany said, throwing her feet over a box and standing abruptly.

Hawke took a steady swig of whiskey before getting to his feet, stretching, and giving Fenris a winning grin. “All right?” he said, breezily.

Fenris gave something between a growl and a disgusted grunt and followed Isabela onto the stage. 

Hawke laughed to himself and gave a moment’s pause -- long enough to take another drink -- before tossing Isabela’s flask aside and following Fenris out. 

The crowd’s roar was thunderous. 

“Kirk-wall!” they chanted. “Kirk-wall! Kirk-wall!”

“Yes, my darlings!” Hawke uttered into the microphone in a low voice. “You didn’t think we’d abandoned you in your time of need, did you?”

The crowd, it seemed, had never had any doubts.

  


* * *

  


Kirkwall had achieved recent fame -- far more than any of them had expected, if the band members were honest with themselves -- after four years of relative obscurity. Varric had met Hawke by a bit of a fluke six years earlier and had instantly taken to his charisma. With Varric only fledgling in his managerial career and Hawke down on his luck after a recent relocation, the two of them took to one another. Though initially they were an incomplete band -- only Varric, Hawke as vocalist, Bethany on guitar, and Aveline, a stray bassist who had encountered the siblings by chance on their way into the city -- it had seemed a natural fit for each of them: Varric could be used by Kirkwall to find them new venues in an unfamiliar city, and Kirkwall by Varric to increase his reputation.

But despite such promising beginnings, the band had struggled along for several years. Hawke’s talent, however, wasn’t lost on all. In exchange for gigs and practicing space, the band came upon their members almost by matter of convenience: Merrill joined them on keys, Isabela on drums, and even Fenris -- another regular at The Hanged Man -- was convinced to join ... in a five-minute conversation, on the condition of being first guitar, more or less only because he kept looking at Hawke like he was the vilest of chopped liver while complimenting him and Hawke wanted to know why.

(If pressed, Varric would summarize the conversation as follows:

“Hawke,” Fenris began. “I’ve heard of you.”

“Oh?” Hawke replied. “That doesn’t bode well.”

“You’re good.” Fenris glared at Hawke, hatefully, as though this very fact about him was intolerable. “We should combine our efforts.”

Hawke grinned, looking warm despite the midnight chill. “All right then! Welcome aboard.”

“I must be first guitar.”

“Very good.”

“What!” proclaimed Bethany in the distance.

Thus, there was Kirkwall.

Now, admittedly -- it should be noted -- Varric does have a penchant for exaggeration. More worrying about this story’s potential for truth is that Aveline, Bethany, and Isabela seem all too keen to corroborate that this is, more or less, exactly, precisely what actually happened. 

Fenris continues to hate Hawke to this very day. They are the glue that holds the band together. All members agree this. None of them understands why.)

The members then all together, the band continued to scrape by on side-gigs offered alongside other bands similarly clamboring for survival -- Friends of Red Jenny, The Templars, The Dalish Clan -- but didn’t hit their big break until Kirkwall won a local Battle of the Bands against a similarly heavy-hitting group called The Qun.

“Kirkwall Defeats the Qun in Epic Showdown!” announced the entertainment headlines in four local newspapers. The [articles](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2824712/chapters/6368186), each of them written by Varric Tethras, emphasized Hawke and Fenris’ talented performances with particular vigor -- though, to their relief, none of the band members was ignored -- and so began Kirkwall’s climb up the charts.

But as Fenris retreated from public eye and Hawke took to fame like a moth to the flame, the name ‘Hawke’ quickly became household. His skill in manipulating drumsticks in the air to fit the song’s beat while he sang became a trademark -- added something to his stage presence -- and once he choreographed with Isabela to match his actions between downbeats, the band became known for it. Hawke’s natural charisma and inclination for seeming arrogance also helped the band’s rise to popularity; once he’d dubbed himself the Champion of Kirkwall, having defused a break-up scare following a gig at the Deep Roads after which Bethany had threatened to leave, never again was Hawke perceived as just any old member of the band.

As his presence, on stage and in interviews, became the band’s trademark, so too did his arrogant performance seem to increase. And -- well. That brings us back to the present.

  


* * *

  


“Must you encourage him like that?” Bethany asked Varric openly once the band had retreated from their encore. “He’s bad enough without that ‘legend’ shit.”

“You know how he gets when there’s a show to play, Bethy,” Varric replied easily, tapping away at his smartphone, inexplicably named ‘Bianca’. “Nothing else anyone was doing was working. Which is true for the band in general, in case you need reminding: Hawke’s the key to saving Kirkwall.”

“And call him Garrett, for pity’s sake. I’m Hawke, too.”

“Sure, but you’re not _Hawke_ Hawke.”

Bethany stared blankly. “So I am constantly reminded.”

“Listen, don’t be thinking about leaving again.”

“I’m not,” she replied glumly. Varric looked at her like he wasn’t convinced. “I’m just getting sick and tired of--”

Hawke took this opportunity to burst into the room, singing Long Way Home at the top of his lungs.

“--that.” She gave Varric a bitter smile. “I’m saying he doesn’t need you putting more ideas in his head about how to behave.”

“Honestly, Varric,” Aveline interjected as she walked by, tending lovingly to her bass. “She’s not wrong.”

“Hey, my business is in keeping people interested in this band. If that means Hawke is typified as the most arrogant frontman this region’s ever seen, then at least people are still buying tickets to see the spectacle.”

Hawke had, at some point in the last 45 seconds, collapsed on a sofa in the back corner and was snoring audibly.

“But, listen, your concerns are important to me. Isabela, you got a problem here too?”

“I don’t really care?” She shrugged off the glares of Bethany and Aveline. “As long as I’m making money.”

“A woman after my own heart,” Varric replied. “Fenris, I won’t even bother asking you.”

“Hawke is a public menace and ought to be set ablaze.”

“That’s about what I thought. Merrill?”

“What?” Merrill blinked up with wide eyes, as though waking up, from her magazine. “Is there a problem?”

Varric nodded. “All right. So there is a problem, but it’s one only the two of you have.”

“Three,” Fenris interjected.

“Can you honestly say you hate Hawke more now than you did when you joined?” Varric asked.

Fenris paused. “Fair point,” he replied, and returned to rewiring his favoured amp. “Actually,” he added after a moment, “let me try that again. Whatever my feelings about Hawke, I do feel his current attitude is moving him away from prioritizing the music, and that is of actual concern to me. Loathe him though I may--”

“Do you, though?” Bethany muttered. 

Fenris frowned at her and continued as though uninterrupted. “--I do feel fondly about _most_ of you, and I have great concern for the band. There will come a point where Hawke is doing us more damage internally than he is doing us benefit externally.”

Varric hummed contemplatively. “That’s actually a good point.”

“Thank you,” Fenris replied, tone dripping with facetiousness. “I don’t know if we’re at that point yet, but--” he caught sight of Bethany’s expression -- “I could be wrong.”

“What will it take for you to leave, Fenris?” Aveline asked him.

“Leave Kirkwall?” Fenris seemed genuinely taken aback by the question. He frowned to himself as he seemed to privately realize the answer, causing the others to smirk knowingly between them.

“He’ll leave when Hawke leaves,” Isabela muttered sidelong to Bethany.

Fenris battled with himself in bitter silence for a moment, then opened his mouth at last. “I joined this band because it was eminently obvious that Hawke, for all else he is, would get the job done. He would build us a good band. I will leave--” his expression soured as he said it -- “when that faith in his abilities is broken.”

“And that may be if Hawke’s arrogance comes to compromise the integrity of Kirkwall?” asked Aveline.

“Yes,” he agreed immediately.

“But today is not that day,” Bethany clarified.

Fenris shrugged an offhand shoulder and gestured toward the door. “You heard the crowd. Have we ever had an encore so well-received? It’s possible Hawke used his obnoxiousness to stall for time without wasting energy justifying himself to us. I don’t pretend to understand his behavior, but it’s worth noting the majority of the ‘Champion’ complex has been thrust upon him from outside sources.”

Bethany frowned and nodded, suddenly convinced. “He is the older brother. He’s used to accepting the responsibility. If he feels like it’s his job to ‘carry’ the band -- misplaced though that shit is -- he might be using being an asshole as a way to get the space he needs to make the hard decisions. It’s not in his nature to gently explain the reasons for his actions; he’d sooner alienate us all than expend that energy.”

Aveline frowned and grunted in Bethany’s direction. “That was a quick turnaround.”

“Look. Hawke’s a sarcastic prick and he needs to work on his skills in working as a team, but he’s still my brother. Varric, can you find a way to take some of the pressure off him? See if he smartens the hell up in the process?”

Varric made noises of vague uncertainty before answering. “I can make some calls. I brought something to his attention about our copyright -- nevermind. There’s something I can outsource. Can I assume this means the crisis has passed for the time being?”

“There wasn’t a crisis, was there?” Merrill said from her place on the sofa.

Bethany smiled thinly. “I guess not,” she replied. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to go pour myself a glass of ‘energy juice’ and watch a shitty movie on Primetime. Goodnight, all.”

Merrill rose and stretched, abandoning the magazine on the table. “Sleep sounds lovely. Is Hawke going to be all right?”

“He’ll be fine,” said Aveline and Isabela at once, and the three of them followed Bethany out.

Varric turned to leave, too, but stopped to give Fenris a significant expression. “Hey -- thanks.”

Fenris pressed his mouth into a thin line. “I can only do so much.”

Varric nodded and held a hand to his bare and hairy chest to show he understood, then slipped out the door after the others.

Fenris continued to fiddle with his amplifier for another thirty seconds before speaking. “How much of that were you awake for?” he asked quietly.

“Most of it,” Hawke mumbled. “Pro tip: next time you decide to have a conversation about me when I’m not around, consider having it when I’m _actually not around_.”

“Yes, well. Try not pissing off everyone around you and see how that works.”

“Are they really close to leaving?”

“Not close,” Fenris replied without looking up from his amp. “I sense they’re thinking about it more and more, however. You may wish to take action to change your behaviour before they start taking such thoughts seriously.”

“I’ve got a band to run, Fenris.”

“As I said.”

“Thanks. For that. By the way.”

Fenris scoffed and said nothing.

“We have roadies that do that,” Hawke continued.

“I’d rather do it myself.”

“Come here.”

“Get out.”

Fenris didn’t need to look up to know Hawke was smiling. “Of here,” he added hastily. “I’m going to bed.” He threw down spare bits of wire and rose fluidly to his feet, ignoring the blossoming of heat in his chest. “Everyone else has gone to bed. You might feel less put upon if you actually slept more than four hours a night.”

“Such concern, Fenris!”

“For the _band_ , yes. For you, negligible.”

“Look at me.”

Fenris did not. “Goodnight.”

He had turned, gone, was only two paces from the door -- when Hawke’s hand closed gently around his wrist. His fingers wrapped delicately around the red leather cuff Fenris always wore on the right -- the one Hawke had given to him for his birthday, some years ago, despite protests. The left still bore his old black leather -- something aesthetically offputting and the subject of disproportionately high media speculation, but nevertheless comforting, in its way.

“Stay,” came Hawke’s voice in his ear, low. “Please.”

Fenris felt his limbs loosen, the tension rolling out of his body. He hitched up his shoulders in frustration; he preferred to be stiff. “I truly am angry with you,” he told him.

“Mmhmm,” Hawke said. He pressed his lips behind Fenris’ ear, then moved them gently down to his neck. Standing alone amidst a sprawl of instruments, Hawke hummed the closing riff of the song they’d just played beyond the curtain; they swayed, gently, from side to side. “But you haven’t lost faith in me, it seems.”

Fenris felt his head yield to the side to expose his neck further, inviting Hawke’s lips. “You truly are reaching new highs in arsery, you realize that,” Fenris told him. 

Hawke closed suction over his clavicle. “I do,” he muttered eventually. 

His breath skated over Fenris’ skin. “Does it bring you joy to be so intolerable?” Fenris asked.

“Only with you.”

A hand on Fenris’ hip and Hawke had turned him around. Fenris made sure the eye contact was as piercing and penetrative as possible; the expansion of Hawke’s pupils told him he had succeeded.

“I meant what I said,” Fenris said in a low voice.

Hawke’s hands had secured themselves over both hips now. “I know,” Hawke said fondly. “Did it shock you to learn you’re disinclined to leave me?”

“I meant about when I _will_ leave you.”

“Oh, that won’t happen.”

“Hawke.”

“This is what you refuse to accept, Fenris, about why Kirkwall will never break.” Hawke’s hands snaked up Fenris’ back under his shirt; Fenris had resigned himself to, at least, slowly undoing the few buttons on Hawke’s shirt that remained done up. The fabric clung to him with sweat, energy pulsing through him from the show. In many respects, Fenris found Hawke most appealing this way. Electric. “I may be a big deal, but you bring me down to earth.” Hawke was still talking; it took Fenris sudden effort to pay attention to his words, and not only to his lips. “That is the only reason we still exist, and everyone knows it. So for as long as you have the ability to bring me down, the band is in no danger.”

“That’s my exact worry, Hawke.” Fenris’ index finger circled the perimeter of the button of Hawke’s jeans; Hawke’s smile quirked annoyingly, devastatingly. “Someday you’re going to stop listening to me.”

“Never, darling.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“As you wish, my wanton lamb.”

“ _Hawke_.”

But any further objections Fenris had, Hawke swallowed in the form of moans.

  


* * *

  


Anders leaned forward on his desk and looked very deeply into Hawke’s eyes. “This is a matter of grave concern,” he intoned, with extreme seriousness.

Hawke knew Anders Justice from his TV commercials about the music industry’s apparent lack of respectability in the esteem of copyright lawyers. They tended to be on late at night, after the 11pm news but before the infomercials began in earnest, and they universally implored musicians to consider visiting _**Anders Justice**_ for their copyright needs, lest they face _**dire consequences**_.

Hawke knew, in other words, that he was about to be extremely entertained.

“Yes,” Hawke said, matching Anders’ seriousness. “Grave concern. The fate of the world -- nay, the universe -- may depend on it.”

Even Anders wasn’t immune to Hawke’s sarcasm. “This is no laughing matter. If you’re facing plagiarism and you’re not adequately licensed for copyright, this competing band could use all of your material without penalty and potentially thieve all of your popularity. It cannot be tolerated. What’s the name of this group?”

“The Templars,” Varric offered.

Anders’ expression turned dark. “ _The Templars,_ ” he hissed with an unmistakable air of extreme loathing.

“See, _that’s_ the sort of venom you’re going to want to emulate if you’re going to convince anyone of your supposed hatred of me,” Hawke said to Fenris.

“May you be messily torn to shreds by a thousand angry dogs,” Fenris replied lazily, failing to look up from the magazine he’d stolen from the lobby.

“Do you see this?” Hawke asked Anders, pointing at Fenris. “No passion.”

“The Templars,” Anders repeated, ignoring Hawke, “are notorious. They will stop at nothing to quash our rights as free musicians.”

“The weird thing about it is that we’ve outplayed the Templars countless times,” Varric provided as Anders shuffled furiously around in a filing cabinet. “They lack our skill, our finesse, our popularity. And yet they played a sold-out show having played 30 percent our material and barely anybody noticed.”

Anders turned dramatically, his silk scarf flying askew. “There is no excuse,” Anders said to Varric, commiseratingly. He grunted furiously to himself, then returned to his filing cabinet.

Varric leaned in to Hawke. “It’s possible I made a mistake calling this guy,” Varric muttered in his ear.

“Absolutely not,” Hawke replied. “Best show off-Broadway.”

“Musician’s rights,” Anders muttered into the filing cabinet, as though on cue.

Hawke grinned fleetingly, then cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Mr Justice.”

Anders turned his attention to Hawke. “Yes?”

“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but isn’t the matter as simple as drawing up a retroactive label contract covering our forthcoming album as well as all previous albums which contained this unfortunate loophole?”

“Well, yes,” Anders agreed, “but it’s also a matter of taking The Templars down once and for all, is it not?”

“What? No, no. I don’t think we want that.” Hawke looked worriedly over at Varric. “We don’t want that, right?”

“Not per se,” Varric agreed.

“I quite like The Templars,” Merrill offered. “They have excellent harmonies.”

“Most of those harmonies are on our tracks, Merrill,” Isabela reminded her.

“Oh, I know. They’re still very nice.”

“Our goal is not to eliminate The Templars,” Aveline said to Anders. “We really just want to protect ourselves. Isn’t that right?”

The band members all murmured their agreement, save Fenris, who frowned at his magazine in stony silence.

Anders looked to each of their faces with suspicion. “You _don’t_ wish to eradicate The Templars.”

“No,” Aveline reiterated.

“We just want a simple contract drawn up,” Hawke agreed.

“Even though they have violated your rights as musicians,” Anders said, as though they had missed that memo the first time.

“That’s … less the concern.”

Anders pursed his lips and re-adjusted his scarf. “Very well,” he said tersely. “I should have a contract prepared for your signature next week. I will require all previous documentation delivered to me as soon as possible, including your most recent album’s paperwork.”

“You’ll have it ASAP,” Varric assured him.

“Thank you for your business,” he said tersely, and showed them the door.

Bethany turned to the others as they stepped outside and smirked at the spectacle they’d just witnessed. “He seemed quite disappointed that we weren’t on the same single-minded, vendetta-bordered page as he was, didn’t he?”

“Oh, he was more than disappointed,” Varric assured her. “If he didn’t need business like ours to stay afloat I’m pretty sure he’d have kicked us out without hesitation as soon as we indicated we weren’t interested in tearing The Templars down.”

“Wonder what The Templars ever did to him?” Merrill asked.

“That was such fun. We should go again soon,” Hawke said wistfully. “Fenris, even you’ve got to admit that guy was--” 

Hawke turned; Fenris was nowhere to be found. “Huh. We lost Fenris.”

“Oh. I saw him go the other way when we left,” Merrill said. “He was reading [that article](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2824712/chapters/6368222) in Rock & Stone, you know, the one about you two. I imagine he’s quite upset.”

“About -- what?” Hawke suddenly turned on the spot to better look at Merrill. “About which two?”

“About you and Fenris,” Merrill replied, “being together and all that.”

Hawke sputtered furiously as the six of them stopped dead in the middle of Anders’ desolate parking lot. “What _article_?” 

“Oh, well, it’s quite tastefully done. I mean, in some respects. I read it the other night, after we played at Starkhaven, when you all were talking about the band? I thought you knew about it, since it quoted you and all that.”

“An _article_ about _me and Fenris_ being _together_ in _Rock & Stone_ … quotes _me?_ ”

“Yes,” Merrill said. “I think that about covers it.”

Hawke gaped at her openly, apparently processing; then, without another word, he sprinted off in the direction he suspected Fenris had gone.

“He went the other way,” Merrill called after him; Hawke switched directions and did not look back.

“Yikes,” Isabela said, pulling a face. “That’s a bombshell.”

“It’s not like nobody knew,” Aveline replied. “Hawke’s been [extremely public](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2824712/chapters/6368201) about his preference for slight men with tattoos. Surely all of us knew he was referring to Fenris.”

“Surely,” Isabela agreed, “ _we_ all knew. That’s different than the rest of the world knowing.” She shook her head. “Hawke’s a rock star, through and through, but Fenris is a _musician_. He doesn’t want this kind of publicity.”

“Well, we were talking about what it would take for Fenris to leave the band,” Aveline said. “Maybe we’ve just found out.”

“God,” Bethany said, “I’m not sure if I can go back to a Kirkwall where Fenris isn’t there to check Garrett’s tomfoolery.”

“Even if you’re first guitar?” Isabela asked, throwing an arm around her shoulder.

“Well.” Bethany grinned. “Admittedly, that’d be all right. Varric, you coming?”

Varric stared at the corner Hawke just disappeared around and tried not to let the weight in his stomach fall to his feet. “Yeah. Right behind you.”

  


* * *

  


Hawke found Fenris pacing furiously among the trees in a secluded area of the nearest park.

“I had nothing to do with it,” Hawke said before Fenris noticed him.

Fenris started at the sound of his voice and turned furiously, brandishing the magazine -- balled up in one hand -- like a weapon. “I don’t believe you,” he spat. “You are _quoted_ , Hawke.”

“I know,” Hawke said. “It’s falsified. I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t even know it _existed_ until Merrill just told me about it.”

Fenris breathed heavily and watched Hawke’s face, but when he found nothing but sincerity, his venom seemed forced to retreat. “You did not provide soundbytes for this article?”

“I did not,” Hawke confirmed. “I would not ever exploit our relationship for publicity.”

At this, Fenris blinked; then immediately calmed. “That, I believe,” he muttered.

“Have I ever given you reason to believe I would?”

“No.” Fenris ran a hand through shock-white hair. “No. I am reacting. I’m sorry.”

Hawke blinked heavily with the utter shock of Fenris offering a sincere apology. “Heavens, what must that article say?”

“It -- basically -- explains --”

“Take a breath, Fenris.”

Fenris breathed. “It portrays our relationship as an open secret, as though the fact we have been together for years has been common, public knowledge.”

“That’s preposterous. Rumours, maybe.”

“Exactly. Rumours. Rumours can be ignored. Rumours do not constitute knowledge. That’s a categorical error.”

“Indeed,” Hawke said. He bit back the rest of his ensuing heckle.

“Our relationship has been an open secret _among the band,_ perhaps.”

“Well, I can confirm they know now.”

“No doubt. But our fans, the public, they were not privy to our innermost workings as the band has been.”

“Is this really so disastrous, Fenris?”

“ _Disastrousness_ is not the feature I’m concerned with,” Fenris bit back. “I don’t deal well with fame. The media may speculate on me however they like as long as my actual life remains uninterfered with. I have enjoyed being lauded as a talented guitarist whose private life is entirely unknown. My music is judged by its own merit. You, on the other hand--” Fenris points at Hawke with the magazine -- “you delight on giving tantalizing hints about your life without giving anything actually away. That worked well enough for me; it meant the attention was off me and on you, you, as you are, talented frontman, attractive, appealing…”

“Why, Fenris!” Hawke said delightedly. “Do you really think so well of me?”

“It’s why our band _works_ , Hawke.” Fenris continued as though Hawke had not interrupted. “You and Isabela, you’re the big personalities, you take the attention off the rest of us, and it’s the only way we stay together. You are the one who always says we require each other for balance. That is how we work. _This,_ ” Fenris again brandished the magazine as though it were a blade, “does not work. This goes too far.”

“I am not responsible for this. Please try to remember that.”

Fenris dropped his arm and forced himself to take a steadying breath. “It makes me wish never to be seen in public again. Not because of you -- I couldn’t care less if they know _we’re together_ , you know -- but because of the things the public now believes you said about me to the world at large. It’s … beyond embarrassing. It’s private. I am a private person.” Fenris collapsed against a downed tree, exhausted by his distress. “I don’t know how to face the world now. I don’t know what I should do next, if I should stay, or...”

Hawke watched Fenris in his distress and felt something deep and horrible building in his chest. “Are you being serious, Fenris?”

“Very.” He waved the magazine around. “I loathe this. I loathe this feeling.”

Hawke finally recognized what it was like when Fenris said the word ‘loathe’ and meant it -- something defeated, far less heartfelt than the words he regularly flings at Hawke. “Well,” he began, sincerity again punctuating his tone. “We could leave the city. Send the band a text taking our leave, go into hiding together.”

Fenris stared at him blankly for a time before his lips twitched with the effort of subduing a smile. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Hawke allowed his own half-smile to break through. “I would, you know.”

“Leave the band and go into hiding with me?”

“Of course. Does that really surprise you?”

“Frankly, yes,” Fenris said.

Hawke sighed and moved slowly toward Fenris’ perch on the log. “You know we kept this a secret because _you_ wished to.”

“Yes.”

“You know how public I am about finding you, specifically and generally, attractive.”

“Yes.”

“You know there’s been rampant speculation about our involvement for _years_ and I have gone overboard to keep mum about details, because that’s what _you’ve_ wanted.”

“Of course.”

“You know I love you.”

Fenris tensed; clenched his teeth; said nothing.

“And in spite of all this you still don’t understand that I don’t care about any of this anymore, except that you care about it.” Hawke held a hand in the direction he came from and shook it, as though holding the world at arm’s length and sending it all aloft. “You care about music in a way I’ve never understood. You care about the sound of it, and the structure of it, and the process of making it. You fix your own fucking amplifiers, for god’s sake. All I have to do is _arrive_. I only need to come along and be charming enough and controversial enough that people keep showing up, keep funding this thing that I like fine and am good at, but that you _love_.” 

Hawke gestured to the magazine. “It stops being fun for you? It stops being something you love? Walk away. I wouldn’t stop you. Same thing you said to the others when they were talking about breaking up the band -- there’s a point where you _will_ leave. If you find the thought of our fans having this false idea of our relationship in their heads so intolerable, then this is where you disembark.” Hawke shrugs. “You want to be by yourself? I understand. You want me with you? I’ll come with you, Fenris. I’m not joking. We’ve got some coin for a while, we can hole up naked in some hotel room somewhere and play music, fuck, trip the light fantastic, what _ever_ until we figure out our next move. But that’s … your call. You want to leave, I’ll follow. In a heartbeat. I’d leave all this, no hesitation, for you. But only if you ask.”

Fenris was watching Hawke with a careful gaze. “And what do _you_ want?”

Hawke shrugged easily. “I’d rather be with you, if I’m being honest. I’ll keep the band going as long as you want to be part of it, as insufferable as you find me. I’m trying to keep us all together, I really am -- do you realize that, or is that just a line you say now? Because I believe that. All that arrogance is all for the sake of the band, whether I’m succeeding or not.” Hawke gestured again to the magazine. “I wouldn’t leak our relationship, if only because I know your odds of staying are much lower now. Please believe me, Fenris. We surely talk a lot of shit, but I don’t really hate you that much.”

Fenris gave a hesitant half-smile. “I know that.”

Hawke’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Well. All right, then.”

Fenris swallowed and slowly unfurled the magazine from his grip. “I’d like for you to read it so you understand what we’re up against.”

“All right.” Hawke took the magazine from Fenris’ outstretched hand and leafed open to the most worn-out page. “How bad is it?”

“By my standards, it’s awful. I’m depicted to be possibly _enjoying_ my relationship with you. It’s slanderous. I ought to sue.”

Hawke cracked a grin in Fenris’ direction and ignored his re-initiated pacing as he read on. “Oh, this can’t possibly have been me. I don’t even know what ‘stalwart’ means.”

“Yes, well. My first thought upon reading your comments was, ‘what an arrogant prick,’ so you’ll have to forgive me for placing the blame upon you.”

But Hawke had stopped listening; his brow furrowed with consternation. Fenris moved slowly behind Hawke as he read and set his chin upon his shoulder so that he could read the article over again at the same time.

“I know where this came from,” Hawke muttered when he was halfway through; but seconds later, the magazine tumbled forgotten to the ground, for Fenris’ teeth were outlining Hawke’s ear.

“You said you loved me,” Fenris whispered into it as Hawke’s hand reached back to bury in his hair. “Did you mean it?”

“Mmm,” Hawke acknowledged. “Don’t let it go to your head. You’re still a wretchedly mean and ungenerous person.”

“You insulting me does not sound as convincing as does me insulting you.”

“I’ve got news for you, darling,” Hawke replied, turning in Fenris’ arms to face him. “You don’t sound that terribly convincing either.”

“Having sex outside is both inconvenient and wildly uncomfortable.”

“I love how you say these things that are only barely related to the thing you really want to say. Yes, I know you love me. Of course I’ll fuck you against that tree. Anything else?”

“You’re an intolerable human being.”

“Why, Fenris. Of course I’ll marry you! You should have asked sooner.”

“What? That’s not what I -- !”

But Hawke had begun following the lines of Fenris’ tattoos with his tongue, all the way down his neck to where they disappeared into his shirt and then some, and Fenris had soon forgotten what he was objecting to.

  


* * *

  


An hour later, Hawke and Fenris burst into Kirkwall’s rehearsal space. “Where’s Varric?” Hawke demanded.

“He’s in his office,” Bethany informed him. “Why?”

“I need to talk to him,” Hawke said only. He stormed off, Fenris following not far behind, toward the back corner where Varric had set up a makeshift home base.

“Guess he found Fenris,” Isabela remarked when the door had slammed shut behind them. By the time of Hawke’s return, the rest of the band had all read the article, and all of them had been utterly taken aback at the things Hawke had been alleged to say about Fenris.

“He’s an arse,” Bethany had said of her brother as they’d crowded around the first copy of Rock & Stone they could find, “but he’s not _that_ big of an arse.”

So it had been quite a relief to see Fenris trailing behind Hawke, for it meant (a) that Hawke was still alive and therefore had not (yet) been murdered by Fenris, and (b) that Fenris had not taken off into the night, never to return, thus leaving the band forever without the Garrett-balance required for the group’s survival.

But as the indistinguishable angry voices rose in Varric’s office and the three of them left, each of them looking furious and saying nothing to the other members, the four of them grew again worried.

“They’re not taking him out back to shoot him or anything, are they?” asked Bethany worriedly.

“I don’t think they’d _shoot_ him,” Aveline soothed.

“Knowing Hawke, Varric will probably just get called short in new and biting ways,” Isabela agreed.

“‘Is that a chest wig, Varric, or did you grow that out all by yourself?’” Bethany said, in poor imitation of the elder Hawke.

“I’d be more worried about Fenris,” said Aveline. A silence fell. All four of them remembered too well the last time Fenris had been wronged. It had been an expensive day.

“But we don’t think Varric wrote the article,” asked Merrill abruptly, “do we?”

“I rather think he did,” Aveline replied sadly. “The publicity it’ll get us? We’re probably sold out for months now. If we make it through the evening, that is.”

“Well, I don’t.” Merrill looked to each of them. “Varric wouldn’t do anything like that. He’d never do that. Not to any of us.”

In grim silence, the moments ticked on without anyone knowing how to combat their own suspicions.

  


* * *

  


Their first stop, of the two, was to Anders.

“Have you changed your mind about taking down The Templars?” he said by way of greeting.

“No,” Hawke replied. “We actually need your advice in another matter.”

“Oh.” Anders did not bother to conceal his disappointment.

“There’s been an interview,” Fenris began tensely. Hawke handed him a piece of paper to shred from the top of Anders’ desk pile.

“Quoting me,” Hawke continued. “Incorrectly. I never said these things.” He cleared his throat. “Not to a reporter, anyway.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Fenris, growlingly.

“Poor joke,” Hawke replied weakly. Fenris’ stare turned stony.

“Look, Blondie,” Varric interrupted. “We’re wondering if we have grounds to sue the magazine in question for damages.”

“What article is this?” Anders asked brusquely. Fenris pulled the rolled-up copy of the magazine from his back pocket and opened it to the relevant page. “And none of this is true?” Anders asked after a few moments of rapid scanning.

“Erm,” said Hawke.

“Truth is not the issue,” Fenris replied tersely.

“The damages have less to do with any claims about the relationship between Hawke and Fenris themselves and more to do with how Hawke was falsely represented to have depicted their relationship,” Varric explained.

“I never granted an interview with Rock & Stone, for one thing. I have never sat down with or even met a Ferdinand Genitivi. But,” Hawke glared at Varric, “I think I can tell you who wrote the falsified interview.”

“You wrote it?” Anders asked Varric. A beat of stunned silence followed.

“What? No! That’s not what I meant to imply,” Hawke clarified hastily. “Varric would never do that to the band.”

“I might have let slip a comment to an unassuming custodian long after the band had left after a show one night,” Varric began nervously, “that a certain guitarist had gone home with a certain lead singer, and that here I was, left to pick up the mess, again.” Varric gave Anders an uneasy smile. “I assumed he wasn’t a fan. Didn’t seem to know much about the band except that there was a Hawke connection.”

“The Hawke Connection,” Hawke muttered to himself, as though innovating an idea; but Fenris shot the process down with a sharp glare.

“I thought there was enough ambiguity to keep enough doubt in the narrative, but I guess he figured out Hawke probably wasn’t sleeping with his sister,” Varric finished, while Hawke squawked with disgust. “Point being, lesson learned, can’t prioritize narrative over the band’s secrets, I’m scheduled to be tarred and feathered for my insolence tomorrow -- but today I want to help make this right.”

“If I’m pretty sure I know who wrote it, and I can get a written confession, can we sue _someone_?” Hawke asked anxiously. “Just for the public denouncement of the article. Fenris wants to stay in the band and I want Fenris to stay in the band, and it’s a lot easier if we can generate some plausible deniability that I ever said any such--”

“Vulgar, inappropriate,” Fenris muttered.

“--things to the press,” Hawke finished timidly.

“So if we can prove the article’s a fake,” Varric concludes, “Kirkwall lives to see another day.”

Anders stared between them, apparently stunned into muteness.

“Please, Mr Justice,” Hawke pled with him. “For the rights of musicians everywhere: to a private life that is truly private.”

Anders sighed and pinched his nose, clearly annoyed that he was being swayed to such a pitiful case. “You think you know who wrote it?” Anders asked at last.

“Yes,” Hawke agreed tersely.

“And you can get a written confession.”

Hawke made a noise of uncertainty. “Probably.”

Anders sighed again and raised his eyes to the ceiling, as though he’d rather not know the answer to the question he felt he next had to ask. “How?” he asked finally.

Hawke looked to Fenris, who clenched his teeth with the sort of menacing fury that finally struck Hawke as intimidating, now that it wasn’t directed at him.

“Violence?” Hawke offered hopefully.

“Hang on a second,” Varric said, suddenly standing and taking his phone out from his pocket. “Let me make some calls. There might be another way.”

  


* * *

  


Gamlen seemed, at first, delighted to see Hawke.

“Garrett!” he exclaimed upon opening the door. “What a wonderful surprise. I see fame hasn’t stripped you of your family values--”

Hawke gave a wan smile and stepped aside just far enough to reveal Fenris behind him.

“Ah,” Gamlen said instead. “I see.”

“Uncle _Gamlen._ You know my bandmate Fenris.”

“Mmm, no. I don’t believe we’ve been acquainted.”

“And yet you seem to believe you know so much about him,” Hawke replied.

“I don’t have any such belief,” Gamlen denied -- mostly out of habit, Hawke assumed.

“Well. I know you _have_ met my manager, Varric.”

“Pleasure to see you again,” Varric said icily; then, sidelong, he nodded to Hawke in confirmation.

“Have I? I’m not sure I have.”

“So you weren’t on custodial duty at The Blooming Rose four months ago, on the night Kirkwall last played there? That’s odd. Your employment records say you were. Another one of your tricks, Gamlen?”

“I see this isn’t a social call,” Gamlen muttered under his breath. “Come in, then, if you’re going to threaten me. I’d rather keep up appearances. Can I offer you anything? Tea? Ale? A convincing backstory?”

“An explanation?” Fenris finished for him, cracking his knuckles.

“He’s slight, but he’s menacing,” Gamlen said companionably to Hawke.

Hawke flinched. “I think you’ve made quite enough observations about Fenris for one lifetime, thank you.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Gamlen insisted.

“No? You’ve never noticed his _flexibility?_ ”

“Hawke, for god’s sake,” Fenris muttered, setting his head in his hand.

“Oops. What I meant was -- ah, bugger it. You published a falsified interview with me in Rock & Stone!”

“I did no such thing,” Gamlen denied easily, leaning back in his chair. “What could possibly be my motivations for--”

“Oh, I don’t know, to make money off the fame Bethany and I have achieved?”

“Nonsense,” said Gamlen.

Hawke frowned. “You’re not bitter whatsoever about Kirkwall’s fame?”

“Nope,” Gamlen confirmed.

Hawke blinked. “Well, I’m out. Varric?”

“See, that’s an interesting story,” Varric began, moving slowly forward, “but you forgot a few crucial details as you were shopping for a publisher, _Mr Genitivi._ ” Varric brandished Bianca from behind him and held it out toward Gamlen. “You forgot that Kirkwall’s champion has at his side an accomplished story-spinner of his own, with considerable connections.”

“And it begins,” Fenris muttered. “One time, can’t we just get a job done without circling around the point like aimless birds of prey...”

“I made a few phone calls when Hawke came to me with his plan,” Varric continued. “See, one of _my_ publishers knows _another_ publisher, who knows a guy, who knows a guy, who knows the editor at Rock  & Stone. Do you want to guess what he told me?”

“I can see it clear as day on your phone,” Gamlen replied flatly.

“He told me,” Varric went on, ignoring Gamlen’s disregard for the narrative, “that Ferdinand Genitivi is a pen name for one Gamlen Amell, brother to Leandra Amell -- god rest her soul -- and uncle to Garrett and Bethany Hawke of the famed rock band Kirkwall ... wanted on charges of theft, extortion, credit fraud...”

“Yes, I get it,” Gamlen snapped. “You’ve got a copy of my contract, very clever.”

“It’s not even that clever,” Hawke replied. “Did you even try?”

“Not really.”

Hawke shrugged. “All right then.”

“What do you want?” Gamlen asked tiredly.

“We plan to sue you,” said Hawke. “The article is fake. We plan to publicly debunk it.”

“We’ll do whatever it takes to ensure you never try to pull a stunt like this again,” Fenris clarified, pulling on his knuckles aggressively.

“I haven’t got any money.”

“No, I figured that. But you will be in court -- a place where the city guard go fairly often, from what I hear -- _and_ you’ll be publicly identified by your real name, which surely won’t go well for you, given your arrest records…”

“All right, all right,” Gamlen interrupted. “What do you want to _prevent_ that outcome?”

“Admit that you falsified the article on paper,” Varric said simply.

Gamlen blinked. “A written confession?”

“A written confession,” Hawke confirmed. “Bring it to Rock & Stone and verify through whatever means necessary that you made the article up, and we won’t sue you for damages.”

“That’s it?”

“Well. Fenris could beat you up, if you’re really keen on it.”

“No, no, that’s quite all right.”

“Good!” Hawke said brightly. “So we’re agreed. We won’t sue you, and you’ll come through on the confession.”

Gamlen looked between Hawke’s forced grin, Fenris’ cracking knuckles, and the bright display of Varric’s phone, and -- reluctantly -- nodded.

“A pleasure as always, uncle,” Hawke said as they moved back toward the door. “And do bear in mind that if for some reason you don’t wind up coming through at all, and this entire debacle isn’t fixed in the immediate future--” Hawke pointed a thumb over his shoulder-- “Fenris will find you.”

Fenris smiled the sort of smile that was more of a promise than words could ever convey.

Gamlen’s biting reply fell to the floor. “Duly noted,” he bit out.

And with that, the trio turned and left the house.

  


* * *

  


The retraction in the next issue of Rock & Stone was brief, tasteful, and resulted in modest compensation to the band for -- quote -- “the catastrophic error in basic fact-checking that resulted in the regrettable mistake.”

When Fenris bought a new amplifier in celebration, it became clear that the incident would not break Kirkwall after all.

“I guess this means you’re staying in the band, then,” Hawke asked him, one foot hitched arrogantly over the other as he leaned in the doorway. He’d found Fenris bent behind it in the band’s rehearsal space, already fiddling with the wiring, and had given himself thirty seconds of quiet admiration before breaking Fenris’ impenetrable focus.

Fenris looked up at Hawke with surprise at his presence. “For the time being,” he said, trying to sound noncommittal. He shook his hand in the air in fatigue, the red wristband still clearly adorned. “Until our newfound fame begins to grow within you like some grotesque tumour, at least.”

Indeed, the entire Rock & Stone debacle had only fed the flames of Kirkwall’s already-legendary status. Hawke had been slated for interview after interview, most of which he [took](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2824712/chapters/6368237) to keep the pressure off the other band members, and especially Fenris. It gave Hawke the opportunity to build Kirkwall’s reputation and to bring attention away from the scandals that had previously plagued them, and he seemed to be managing it in a way that kept the other band members happy -- for the most part.

(“‘Aveline’s an _absolute tank_ ’?” Aveline read aloud once Hawke’s first full interview was published in the wake of Rock & Stone’s retraction.

“I only meant that you’re -- you know. Steady! You’re always there for the band, you keep us on track in rehearsal when we get too far afield, and besides all that, you never drop tempo. Come on, Aveline, you know you’re the best bassist I’ve ever met!”

“And you chose to represent that admiration by describing me as a humungous military vehicle?” she continued with a tone of increasing incredulity.

“It’s a compliment!” Hawke protested, to sputtered complaints and background giggles.

“Don’t you start,” Aveline advised a giggling Isabela gravely. “You’re a ‘hell-on-wheels rogue’ who keeps the band on edge at all times, if you didn’t know.”

Isabela took a moment to think this over while admiring her ear in the mirror, as though contemplating a new piercing. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” she replied, to Hawke’s joy and Aveline’s consternation.)

And so Kirkwall was preserved, in spite of insurmountable odds and enemies found in strange corners. The band continued to build their fame for another year, in relative peace and harmony --

\-- Until a new threat to Kirkwall’s integrity arose, in the form of The Templars’ lead singer. Meredith, wielding a mighty Axe, was no less dedicated to bringing down the band’s new ally Anders as she was to finding Kirkwall’s breaking point.

But that’s a tale for another day.


	2. Kirkwall Defeats the Qun in Epic Showdown

**Kirkwall Defeats the Qun in Epic Showdown**   
_By Varric Tethras_

This year’s annual Battle of the Bands saw a marked uptick in the talent shown by local musicians, particularly among this year’s finalists.

Kirkwall, fronted by the charismatic Garrett Hawke, edged out The Qun at the final hour with a surprising finishing blow.

Fenris, the band’s lead guitarist, concluded Kirkwall’s set with a surprising riff, demonstrating that talent was not just reserved for the band’s memorable lead singer. Infusing several musical genres together -- including a crowd-pleasing jazz-inspired three-step -- Fenris led Kirkwall to a likely victory in the final moments, while Hawke and drummer Isabela offered impressive drumstick choreography in silent support. 

The guitar-heavy final number demonstrated the various ways in which Kirkwall outstripped its competition both in terms of ability and finesse.

“Fenris is tremendously talented!” Garrett Hawke, newly flushed with success, told us not long after hearing they’d won the title. “He deserves this recognition. We deserve this recognition!”

Kirkwall reports that they have begun booking shows at larger venues in response to increased interest following their climb up the BotB ladder.

The Qun were unavailable for comment.


	3. Garrett Hawke's KIRKWALL CONFESSION!

**Garrett Hawke’s**   
**KIRKWALL CONFESSION!**

Out of luck, ladies -- Kirkwall frontman Garrett Hawke seems to prefer gentlemen.

In a recent interview with NOW!, the vocalist confirmed his sexuality with a casual remark about a “preference for tattooed men.”

“I don’t know what else to tell you,” a bashful Hawke told NOW! “There’s something about an inked man comprised of right angles that enthralls me.”

The statement fed rumours of an interest in Kirkwall’s lead guitarist, the equally talented Fenris, but Hawke could not confirm such was the case. He did say that he would not rule out the possibility of a future relationship with a woman, stating, “Honestly, anything can happen -- I’m a rock star, after all, I make my own possibilities.” 

Hawke, who famously turns away the sexual attentions of his fans, has never been publicly spotted with a romantic companion.

Kirkwall’s frontman, along with lead-guitarist Fenris, famously made headlines last year when they engaged in an open shouting match behind a club, apparently stemming from Hawke’s nonchalance about the departure of rhythm guitarist and younger sister Bethany Hawke. 

The younger Hawke later re-joined the band without further incident.


	4. A Hawke-Eye View Behind Kirkwall's Perimeter

**EXCLUSIVE: A Hawke-Eye View Behind Kirkwall’s Perimeter**   
_By Ferdinand Genitivi, for Rock & Stone_

Just sitting down with Garrett Hawke, frontman of Kirkwall, shows the band’s new commitment to openness with their fans. “All right, I’m here,” he begins cheerfully, crossing his arms comfortably in preparation for our interview. “What do you want to know?”

Kirkwall’s recent surge in popularity is largely credited to Hawke, who began the band with his younger sister, Bethany, six years ago. Joined by Aveline Vallen, the band’s bassist, the group tried to make their way in a new city following the evacuation and destruction of their hometown in the eastern region of the nation. But it wasn’t until former DJ and current manager Varric Tethras joined as general manager that Hawke feels the band really had had a fighting chance.

“Varric is integral to our group,” Hawke told us. “He’s short, but he’s effective. He’s as much a band member as any of us. Well … not as much as me. And maybe more than Fenris.”

Hawke’s long-standing rivalry with the band’s guitar player Fenris is well-documented in coverage of Kirkwall’s rise to fame. Upon meeting him within the first year of the band’s formation, Fenris was quickly taken on as a central member of the band. Once drummer Isabela and keyboardist Merrill joined to fill out Kirkwall’s sound, it was only a matter of time before the band rose to fame.

I found it surprising that Hawke felt Fenris was not integral to Kirkwall’s success, but it soon became obvious that Hawke’s trademark facetiousness had gotten the better of me. “I’m joking,” Hawke clarifies. “Apart from me, of course, no member is more important than the other. We would never have been a band without a drummer, and with Merrill on keys we began to differentiate ourselves from similar sounds. But -- and I’m sure the band won’t resent me for saying this -- Fenris is integral to our group on more than one level. More accurately, he makes it his life’s mission to make me feel like shit about my mistakes until I stop making them. It’s good for the band. The others don’t hesitate to tell me when I’m wrong, but none of them gets under my skin the way Fenris does. It’s hot as hell. He’s a good man to have around … for several reasons.”

We asked Hawke to expand upon the nature of his relationship with the Fenris for Rock & Stone.

“I’d better not. He’ll cut off my head, put it on a stick, and tie it to his fretboard as a trophy.” Hawke laughs. “I’ll say this: Fenris is a much more flexible person than he first seems. Oh, damn, that’s not what I meant -- what I meant to say is that he’s only hard when it counts -- ah, nevermind.” Hawke laughs again, with a ribbing air; the ‘slip-ups’ were made for my benefit. “I’m not sure what to say about Fenris. He’s always right where you need him. How’s that? Still dirty? Damn.”

When pressed, Hawke denied his relationship with the guitarist was ever a secret. “No! We’ve never hidden it,” the frontman insists. “We’ve been together for years. The media’s known it. Not expressing it outright hardly matters when you’ve been as obvious as I have.”

But are they happy together?

“Certainly!” he offers without hesitation. “Fenris is extremely private, but I feel comfortable saying he does have overall positive feelings about me, if I’ve any power of observation whatsoever. His hostility is merely his fashion of showing me endearment. He could leave at any time, but of course that might mean leaving the band … so I guess I’ve trapped him in a relationship he might prefer not to be in. Ha! Never thought of it that way.” Our frontman seems unperturbed by the thought.

Hawke credits their close personal relationship with the band’s success.

“Without me and Fenris joining forces -- musically and otherwise -- our band would not have caught that break two years ago,” he concludes. “Kirkwall would never have beaten the Qun, those articles would never have been written, and I wouldn’t be sitting down with you now. Not only due to his insurmountable skill on the guitar, but due to his stalwart commitment to, erm, _keeping the the band together_ \-- Kirkwall owes our success to him.” Hawke clears his throat. “And me. Mostly to me. But a little bit to Fenris.”

Kirkwall is enjoying a tour in advance of the release of their fifth studio album later this year.


	5. Sinking the Rock & Stone Interview: Garrett Hawke Tells All

**Sinking the Rock & Stone Interview: Garrett Hawke Tells All**   
_by F.I. Irving_

Garrett Hawke appears not to have suffered under the pressures placed upon him by fame and its misfortunes. “You take the bad with the good,” the well-balanced Kirkwall frontman tells us. “And then you take a drink or ten, and then you hide under the blankets for a while, and when you wake up you’re too busy cursing yourself to be cursing anyone else, and by the time you feel like yourself again it’s all blown over. Who says alcohol can’t solve problems?”

Hawke’s wit may be renowned, but I am still touched by the smile that accompanies his jokes. “I am kidding, of course,” he clarifies, though there is no need. Interviewing Garrett Hawke -- the _real_ Garrett Hawke, that is -- has a knack of putting you at immediate ease.

In the wake of the Rock & Stone article that nearly sunk Kirkwall at the height of their popularity, the band seems to be holding together stronger than ever. “It may be that being slandered in the media has done us tremendous good,” says the ever light-hearted Hawke. “No, no, in all seriousness, I think it has given us the opportunity to become more open with each other -- have conversations we might never have otherwise had. [Rhythm guitarist and Garrett’s younger sister] Bethany has been unhappy in the band for some time, as the media has been all too keen to point out, and others began to share her concerns. I’ve been forced to listen to those concerns now which, despite being very humbling, has been very good for us.

“I hope they’ll be more tolerant of my incomparable talent now,” Hawke adds, then laughs. “By which I mean, of course, my arrogance. I am very good at being a rock star, I am aware of that, but for a long time I forgot to tell the others how good _they_ are -- how good we are together. We share responsibility for the band’s fame, now. It’s right.”

At a certain point in the interview, the frontman looks nervous for a second, then takes a moment to compose himself. I am all too happy to wait; I can guess what’s coming. “On a more personal note,” Hawke begins, with obvious care, “it has forced [lead guitarist] Fenris and I to sit down and figure out how we wish for our relationship to be portrayed in the media. I have learned that he would rather not I reveal any details about our sex life, for example.” 

Hawke laughs; the usually warm sound has taken on an anxious tone. He clears his throat, kicking one leg over the other, before continuing. “And understandably so, of course. Fenris has always been the least keen out of all of us to take on the burden of Kirkwall’s fame. He’s in it for the music, for the experience, for the band. He doesn’t care about any of this. No offense,” Hawke adds hastily, reaching out to where I’m sitting with remarkable sincerity. “I find you perfectly lovely, of course, but Fenris … prefers privacy. Which is why we concealed our involvement for so long -- to a fault, clearly. Had we been upfront in the first place, this whole Rock & Stone debacle might never have happened.”

For absolute clarity, I ask Hawke again to confirm the rumours. “Fenris and I are indeed romantically involved and have been for some time,” Hawke says, nodding, “with authorization, on the promise that I am to stick to a few narrow topics and that I remain eminently serious. I have already told one joke; that’s one too many.” He pauses and swallows, perhaps to beat down another one-liner. “So you may have one additional question, and then we really should move on.”

After careful consideration, I ask the one question that seemed of relevance out of the offensive interview: Are the couple happy together?

Hawke smiles and gives pause before answering. “Isn’t it funny that you asked the one question from Rock & Stone that the actual Hawke might answer similarly,” he says. “I am very happy, and Fenris continues to positively spit in fury every time I open my mouth. I shall continue to believe our relationship persists in good standing until the day he stops.”

I know I’m pushing my luck, but I ask him about the famed rivalry between the pair. “Is that not how everyone flirts?” Hawke responds instantly, then smacks his own forehead with comical fortitude. “Ah, but no, I’ve broken my own rule! Nevermind about Fenris, now, I’ve said enough. Ask me about Isabela.” The band’s drummer seems, like Hawke, to thrive under fame. “She’s begun promoting us in her spare time, largely to unsavoury demographics, might I add. I think she’s trying to broaden our support base.” Hawke gives another laugh, its warmth recovered. “[Band manager] Varric [Tethras] is awfully torn between being delighted and horrified at her efforts.”

The full interview with Hawke will be released in our monthly issue, due in publication in just two weeks. In it, Hawke details Varric’s role in the band’s rise to fame; describes the full circumstances among Bethany’s near-departure; answers our questions about Merrill, Kirkwall’s quiet and mysterious keyboardist; and discusses his recent public appearances with Anders Justice, a lawyer famous for his ferocious defense of musicians and his recent and very public crusade against The Templars for their unethical practices.

Be sure not to miss this groundbreaking look into a band that has been famously renowned for its secrecy, in which Hawke takes care to extol the virtues of each of the band members in a manner not previously seen from the rambunctious lead singer.

“Kirkwall would not be here today if it wasn’t for each and every one of us,” he told me, more than once, with uncharacteristic but uncompromised sincerity each and every time. “We are _all_ champions of Kirkwall.”


End file.
